


Incoming Call

by A soggy and nasty piece of bread (Riemann_integrable)



Category: B: The Beginning (Anime)
Genre: Drinking, Drunk Sex, I'm so done with myself, M/M, Masturbation, Phone Sex, Sex, you know what i'm done tagging the fucking kinks i'm so done
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-18
Updated: 2018-07-18
Packaged: 2019-06-12 06:37:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15333993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Riemann_integrable/pseuds/A%20soggy%20and%20nasty%20piece%20of%20bread
Summary: They have phone sex.That's it. That's literally it.





	Incoming Call

**Author's Note:**

> [This ask](https://minatsuki-on-main.tumblr.com/post/172972051775/that-last-photoset-of-minatsukis-you-posted-looks) has been haunting me ever since it was sent to me and I couldn't. stop. thinking. about it. So I'm here at fucking past 4am, trying to free myself of this burden. I kept going "Do I have to do it? Am I going to *end up* doing it?" and apparently Yes. 
> 
> I think I've reached peak self-indulgence. I just stopped giving a shit at one point as I wrote it. I swear to fucking god I haven't written something this self-indulgent before. I'm just so done. I'm setting myself on fire, bye. I also didn't correct it. I don't dare to, not yet.

It’s one of those evenings when there’s nothing much to do. Low-tier jobs are for low-tier reggies, not them, and even if the mission is relevant, there are seven other people who can take care of it. Leaders ought to stay sat in their places, monitoring and supervising, keeping the strings in hand. Sometimes the events flow smoothly enough not to need higher instructions, but who knows what unpredictability could come next? And when one can ascertain that his subordinates are, indeed, competent, he can congratulate himself and sit back a little to relax. 

 

It’s one of those evenings when Minatsuki drinks.

 

There’s nobody there to celebrate with; to tell the truth it’s actually quite busy these days, just not for him, because he shamelessly prioritizes his own comfort over that of anyone else in Market Maker. The loneliness invading the Moby Dick’s metallic corridors is starting to be more heavy than soothing, but most of all  _ boring _ . Alcohol does this to him sometimes, it makes him doze off on the couch, thoughts flicking back to the same few concepts. Looking for something to complain about.

 

No, it’s not like Minatsuki can blame it on anyone, he’s the one who sent them out; and here he is now, not really knowing what to do besides moving on to the next bottle of whiskey. It also sort of pisses him off that he needs to get up each time to pour glasses for himself, just when he’s starting to get comfortable lying across the cushions. The bottle is on a small coffee table he dragged there for convenience — again, on his own — beside a big bucket of ice. It’s bound to melt eventually, incentivizing him to drink quicker. He has a harder time sitting up each time without falling on the ground, he’s noticed, and spinning around so much is terrible. But if there’s anything worse than that — it’s whiskey without ice. Terrible, terrible, just terrible. 

 

It would be much easier if someone could pour him drinks, and Minatsuki already has a clear idea of who that someone would be. Really, it would turn his mood around dramatically if Laica was here, maybe make this an entertaining evening or just a pleasant one. Sprawled on the couch, being served glasses as often as he wants without having to move. Laica would just stroll up and down and ask him what he prefers to drink next in that odd, formal tone, bringing it a few moments later. Other things could happen, too, if Minatsuki asked. 

 

The last thought, he decides, is something worth elaborating on, while realizing too late that the feelings of comfort and disinhibition are resulting — as they always have — in a tingle of arousal he can’t push down. Minatsuki kicks off his shoes, out of decency if anything, then stretches his legs out fully. He pulls up a knee and finally reaches for the phone in his pocket, not quite sure what he’s trying to accomplish but having ceased to care about reasonable motivations in his current state. It’s more of an impulse, and impulses are to be acted on. The call rings out.

 

“Good evening.”

 

Minatsuki almost jumps when he hears the phrase after a few moments of silence, in an uncomfortably distorted version of his own voice. Drunkenness has made him a little slow so it takes a little to piece the situation together. He reaches backwards to put a hand behind his nape before groaning with irritation.

 

“Could you turn off that voice changer? I almost got a heart attack.”

 

There’s sounds of dialing and settings being changed on the other end, then the slight background static cuts off.

 

“You know it’s needed.” It’s Laica’s voice — the real one, finally — and it rings low in Minatsuki’s ear. He feels his muscles stiffening up and a rush of blood in his body he half-expected.

 

“How’s the mission going?” He blurts out, having to ascertain himself multiple times afterwards that he asked a simple and mundane question, nothing further than that.

 

“Stalling. The person in charge of the arrangement should be here already, it seems like he’s late. I’m going to wait for half an hour more, but if he comes it could drag on for at least—”

 

“Good,” Minatsuki interrupts irreverently, “when are you heading back?” He grows tense when Laica stays silent for a few seconds, pulling his foot a bit more towards himself on the couch.

 

“Is there something urgent you want done?”

 

“Maybe,—” it turns into a snicker at the end with him barely noticing.

 

“...Minatsuki?”

 

“Are you on your own?” He breathes out more quietly, grabbing the glass on the table with a cramped stretch to gulp down the remaining half of it before he gets an answer.

 

“Yes. I’m waiting, as I said.”

 

Minatsuki thinks that maybe he should feel a bit guilty about his hand reaching to unbuckle his belt right then, or ashamed, because absolutely nothing happened yet, but all of that feels like a lump of pointless worries after the unhealthy amount of whiskey he’s had. He’s getting vulgarly hard and even pressing down a little through his underwear makes him let out something akin to a yelp. It startles him, even.

 

“Are you alright?” There’s something weirdly nice about the fact that Laica sounds worried.

 

“I’m fine,” Minatsuki says with a bit of a lack of breath, “just keep talking.”

 

While the other is puzzled, he has just enough time to pull the glove off — with his teeth, so he can keep holding onto the phone for dear life.

 

“What? I don’t have more to report.”

 

Minatsuki outright moans into the mic at that. It’s partly because he’s finally fumbled enough with his boxers to pull them down despite the lack of movement coordination, partly because he got tired of this game. It feels foggy and somehow triumphant that the realization must be hitting Laica about now. Maybe it’s another turn-on, besides his voice, so deep and quiet and unfazed. It makes Minatsuki wonder what he sounds like when actually angered, and he could have a chance at that this evening. Calling him up was a brilliant decision.

 

“What’s going on there, Minatsuki?” 

 

His hand moves on his cock spontaneously at how close it sounds to an admonishment, gripping the phone harder all the while and making sure his agitated exhales go through.

 

“Try to guess.” He’s almost irritated, or maybe that’s what he’s trying to sound like. Just as another push, he adds; “And then spell it out for me very slowly.”

 

There’s a sigh of disbelief coming from Laica; Minatsuki prays, for some unknown reason, that he says something degrading next, though he knows it’ll be more difficult than this to get him to. He suddenly starts feeling too hot in his suit and stops masturbating for a moment to take off at least the jacket.

 

“Are you really this impatient?” Laica asks as if it’s about some everyday topic.

 

“What if I am— ah!” Minatsuki’s wraps his fingers around his cock again. The sound he just made doesn’t help a lot to make him seem like he’s in control of the situation, but that’s something to worry about when he’s sober and not now.

 

“You should have thought about it before sending me on mission.”

 

“You’re not doing—” he cuts himself off to pant, words hoarse as if forced out, “—anything anyway, right? So stop nitpicking.”

 

“Can’t you just wait until I come back?”

 

Minatsuki’s smirk can almost be heard from his speech as his hand quickens.

 

“And what are you going to do  _ when you come back _ ?”

 

His entire body freezes when there are a few hollow moments of tension again. He hates how Laica ponders so much and always makes him wait it out, and the worst thing is that he might be doing it on purpose, inwardly laughing at how he must look right now. Strangely, there’s something that appeals to Minatsuki even in this eventuality. 

 

“You know,” yet another pause, “I might tell you after  _ you _ tell  _ me _ what you’re doing. I don’t recall getting an answer to that.”

 

Now it’s clear and blatant mockery and Minatsuki  _ did _ suspect it would be pleasant to hear whenever it would come, but he never expected this much. The sole implication that Laica would be fully aware of how desperate he is and decide to exploit it is enough to make his cock twitch and his toes curl in the literal sense, pressing into the fabric of the sofa underneath.

 

“I’m jerking off” he replies without thinking.

 

“I figured as much. I’m going to need more detail than that.”

 

“I’m—” the air halts in Minatsuki’s throat as he stops touching himself again, not daring to continue as if Laica could see him, “I’m on the sofa. My jacket and shoes are off, and my pants are pulled down.”

 

“Almost fully clothed. Isn’t it hot there?”

 

“I feel like I’m on fire…” He laughs softly.

 

“Strip. Start with the vest and tie.” 

 

Laica is using that informative voice again and even though it sounds like a report or some goddamn instruction manual it makes Minatsuki grit his teeth from the wave of excitement. He activates the speakerphone option, pulls off the remaining glove and places the device on the table, then removing the requested garments with trembling fingers.

 

“I’m done, Laica.” He only notices afterwards that it already sounds like he has to answer to him about everything he does, and the thought almost makes him groan.

 

“Feels better, doesn’t it?” It does; he realizes the arousal has overheated him to the point of drenching his dress shirt in sweat underneath. “Do you want to touch yourself?”

 

“Y-yes…?” Minatsuki, himself, is unsure whether that’s what the other wants to hear and it comes out like a request for permission.

 

“Good. You can’t.”

 

The sofa creaks beneath him as he writhes with a whine — he knew Laica would say that deep down, and yet it comes as a pleasant shock that he’s playing around and tormenting him like this. Minatsuki comes to the realization that being  _ ordered _ to ignore his painful erection has the opposite effect. But he waits nonetheless, flicking a strand away from his face with a hand gone pale by all the blood rushing to his cheeks. 

 

“Unbutton your shirt. Take your time.” Laica says then, and his natural tone fits that attitude frighteningly well.

 

“Do you want me to get completely naked?” Minatsuki asks with a bit of a chuckle to divert the tension.

 

“As if you had any right to be ashamed of that. You’ve been trying to get off in a place where anyone could walk in.”

 

He’s already convinced enough when he undoes two buttons almost nervously, exposing his collarbones that shift just a little along with his breathing, but then Laica adds:

 

“But maybe that turns you on.”

 

“No, it’s— Nhhh!” Minatsuki’s voice cracks in the middle of the sentence like he wasn’t fully conscious of the effect this is having on him before speaking. His legs convulse before going weak again and his hips buck into thin air uncontrollably; he can’t stroke himself off, he’s not allowed, and it’s incredibly cruel but also hot in ways he doesn’t want to delve into. He quickly unbuttons the rest of the shirt and Laica manages to speak exactly after he’s done as if he could infer what’s happening just from Minatsuki being quiet instead of rustling; it’s bone-chilling. 

 

“You must look good right now, hard and sprawled out there with no composure. I bet your hair is all over the place.”

 

Every muscle in Minatsuki’s body goes taut at how he made it sound like he’s actually witnessing everything, though his hair getting in the way isn’t that hard a guess to make. His cock is dripping precum by now, despite it feeling like he hasn’t been touched for an eternity. He wonders if Laica will ever let him. Or if he’ll actually reach a point where he’ll come nevertheless. It would certainly be  _ interesting _ , though a big blow to his image.

 

“Trail down your chest. Close your eyes and imagine it’s me.”

 

And Minatsuki complies wordlessly, barely ghosting along his torso — it doesn’t feel  _ exactly _ right, because his fingertips are softer than Laica’s, but it can pass. Despite how weird it must look from the outside, he finds himself leaning into his own touch as it travels across his slightly protruding ribs and doesn’t have the audacity to go lower than his stomach. He becomes aware of how his huffs are morphing into moans at a moment’s notice and he’s entering a state of dizziness where any reaction he’d normally have is utterly suffocated in favour of a need for pleasure. 

 

“Can you feel it?” It’s a vague sentence but it carries enough information.

 

“I can” says Minatsuki immediately. 

 

It’s not a lie, because that was never a question to begin with, it was an instruction. One that tells him to imagine Laica leaning over him and dragging a big, rough palm across his chest so slowly it borders on aggravating. His breath on Minatsuki’s neck. His voice sounding a bit different than with the interference of the phone. Minatsuki can delude himself into it all being real because he wants to.

 

“I’m touching your nipple. Go do it.”

 

He does, probably more harshly than intended, and the whine that follows is an octave too high. 

 

“Laica, can we… ahh! —move on?”

 

“Why? You loved that.”

 

“But I can’t—” Minatsuki blurts out, tripping over words because he’s drunk and turned on and exasperated, “I can’t keep this up… I’m going to— I c-can’t…”

 

“Ah, no, you can’t come, in case you were going to ask.” 

 

There’s something strange and new in the way Laica speaks, something that gradually crept its way there during the ordeal, a sort of self-indulgence. It would almost make one think he takes joy in this and it’s not entirely one-sided. It makes Minatsuki doubt Laica is really the reserved and fairly innocuous person he always thought he was — normally, that would be something to reflect on, now it’s just a vague but intense feeling of danger that makes him shiver up. 

 

“What else do you want me to do? Anything… Just stop teasing me, I can’t bear it…!” Minatsuki says, a bit arrogant and defensive. Unsure what he’s feeling among irritation, fear and neediness. He realizes he’s raised his voice and that Laica won’t let it slide.

 

“Bothered?” Comes the amused response. “Why don’t you just ignore what I say?” A pause to let the other whimper. “Why don’t you hang up, Minatsuki?”

 

But Minatsuki is delirious at this point, he has a sudden bout of vertigo despite lying and it feels paralyzing that he’s much slower at following the events than Laica. A few strands of his hair stick to his exposed neck and chest from sweat and he doesn’t even have it in him to move them away. What is he supposed to reply? He has no idea. Fuck, he has no control over anything whatsoever, all he knows is that he’s rock hard and wants to come so, so badly. He could touch himself. It would be so easy — except it isn’t. 

 

“You’re really out of it, aren’t you?” Laica says then, and suddenly he sounds soft and kind like a saviour descended from Heaven. Even the next phrase sounds benevolently condescending. “What a mess you are.”

 

“You’re right, so don’t torture me like this.” Minatsuki manages to breathe out, hoping his desperation will come through and appease Laica.

 

“I guess I won’t,” the other sighs, “you’ve done a good job obeying after all.” There’s something cathartic about expressing what’s happening between them like that. 

 

There’s a bit of silence and Minatsuki calms down, though he’s still tense and longing any kind of relief to an agonizing degree; his toes still push into the sofa firmer and firmer each second.

 

“You haven’t told me,” he says then, more quietly, “what you were going to do when you’re back.” But when Laica doesn’t answer immediately, he feels some of the boldness rush back, because such is his temper. “Are you gonna jerk me off yourself? Maybe you’ll suck my dick, I’d enjoy that.”

 

He can tell, by the eeriness of the breaths from the phone, that he pushed the wrong button.

 

“Bold of you to assume—” he cuts off, which is legitimately scary, “—to think  _ your _ whims are the only important thing here.”

 

It puts everything into a new perspective; he’s turned on. As a discovery, it’s almost earth-shattering to Minatsuki, it makes his body contract as if that could scratch the itch, but he barely has the time to be shocked and insanely aroused before Laica speaks again.

 

“I’ll tell you since you wanted to know.” It’s quicker, almost whispered and definitely angry. “When I come back, Minatsuki, I’m gonna grab you by your pretty hair, spin you around and push you into the pillows. You won’t even resist, because you’re too horny, but you wouldn’t anyway.”

 

Laica has to catch his breath, but it’s already too much at once. Minatsuki finds an urge outright possessing him as his hand moves on its own to push his pants farther down. He already starts to tremble when he hears the other inhale to continue.

 

“I’m gonna fuck you so hard you can’t walk tomorrow. You’ll have to grip the armrest, you’ll feel like you’re going crazy, but this is what you’ve been waiting for, and I know. You know what’s the best part?” A brief pause. “That you won’t be able to moan or scream because everyone will be asleep and they’d hear you. You’re gonna have to stay quiet and take it, and you’ll bite your lip bloody if you have to, because you care about your reputation so fucking much.”

 

Laica might like pretending he’s there but he isn’t  _ actually _ present, which is why he can’t prevent Minatsuki from spreading his cheeks apart and pushing a finger into himself while listening to him. He’s unaware of his own actions but it feels way better than it should — he doesn’t even care if his choked gasps register to the mic in full amplitude as he prods in deeper again and again. He imagines Laica doing everything he said he would, vividly, and even like this, it’s too strong a blow to his senses. 

 

“I know what you’re doing” comes suddenly from the phone and Minatsuki moans so loud and uncontrolled it borders on a wail. 

 

“Then let me come,— AH!” His finger hits the right spot and he whines again; it probably sounds like he’s crying, and he’s pretty sure there’s some tears dwelling up in his eyes, too. “Please, Laica, let me come, please, please, please…”

 

“I like how you asked.” Laica says in response, and how particularly deep his voice sounds diverts attention from how he briefly  _ chuckles _ , something he’s never done. “Go ahead.”

 

And Minatsuki comes. Finally. The stimuli are overwhelming and all he perceives as he touches his cock is his vision going blank and temples pulsing alarmingly, so much pleasure he has trouble processing it. It’s so utterly numbing he has to wait a good minute before even opening his eyes; the heaving of his chest takes even longer to settle. 

 

The post-orgasmic haze brings about an odd satiety he has trouble jolting back from to make sure Laica hasn’t hung up yet. There’s a bit of silence needed, too. Minatsuki can’t think of anything more appropriate when it grows awkward than to act lighthearted; his eyes dart around the green velvet tastelessly speckled with cum.

 

“God, the sofa.”

 

“You insisted on not waiting.” The dangerous tone from Laica’s voice is gone, and listening to him now feels like having made a leap in time from the beginning of the conversation. Not that Minatsuki minds — this is more calming — but it leaves him wondering.

 

“I’m exhausted,” he complains instead, “and I’ll have a hangover in a while. I doubt I’ll make it  _ awake _ until you’re back.”

 

“Will I have to carry you back to your room?”

 

“Maybe,” Minatsuki sighs, “but you should know all you’ll do after that is put me to sleep.”

 

“Of course.”

 

The change was nice, but it’s even nicer to have Laica act agreeable again. Minatsuki’s lids already feel heavy as he picks up the phone from between the empty bottles and glass, changes the settings back, holding it to his ear. He starts noticing the heavy stench of alcohol and his reasonable side recognizes it as disgusting, even if he doesn’t care.

 

“We don’t talk about this, I presume.” Laica says after hearing Minatsuki huff, miraculously still on the other end.

 

“It would be recommendable not to.”

 

“I’ll try to be back as soon as I can.” 

 

The call ends with that, but it doesn’t feel like it did. There’s a sense of being observed that lingers, impossible to tell where it’s coming from, but prevalent in the dark — and now messy — meeting room of the airship, somewhere only leaders are present when everyone else is working. Some mystical surveillance between the spilled drinks and bodily fluids, the scattered clothes. Minatsuki relaxes into it. 

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Yes, I really did write "bold of you to assume" because I'm a CLOWN who puts memes in porn.


End file.
